Wrong
by Guardian Kysra
Summary: She feels like crying . . . The Aftermath of Vol. 8 of the manga. AylaEury centric.


_Dislaimer: I only wish I had half the skill of Ozaki-sama._

_Note_ This contains SPOILERS for Vol. 8 of the manga, so if you haven't read it yet, what are you waiting for?_  
_

_Wrong_

by Kysra

She feels like crying though she knows she doesn't have the right so her eyes shift and watch him, barely believing that she's walking on her own two feet, that he's breathing just a few inches away.

He rides along Methuseluh's back like a child sprawled across his father; and he's tired, so tired. She can see the weariness in the tremor of his shoulders and the droop of his flirting mouth; but he's smiling – a smile so small and satisfied and so utterly him, though how she knows this facet is a mystery. He has never smiled that way before in her presence.

Perhaps she knows it's wholly his because Amy's mouth is so similar.

They walk along and she trails behind. His hands had been so cold. Cold hands wet beneath cold water. But they had been strong, even in those last moments, even when her vision had darkened with near-catatonia, his hands had not loosened and she had not tried to pull away. His eyes had held her as securely as those icy, grasping hands; and despite the pain, despite the knowledge and fear in those eyes, she had not looked away.

That look, the words on his lips, the feel of his skin against hers – they are branded on her with frost and fire. Her body shakes with the echo of his shivering trembles, and her mind cannot currently register any words save those he last spoke to her, before the water claimed him and his hands softened upon her wrists.

There had been no question – she would not leave him. No matter what he had done in the past, no matter how angry and vengeful her feelings toward him, the fact remained that she had owed him her life three times over. He had told her, with his last breath, that he was afraid; and she had responded with the strength of her own fear, grasping his wrists with the same force as he was clutching hers as if holding him would somehow free him, free her to escape and fight another day.

His eyes had remained open for a single shocked moment, peering at her through the water as his countenance calmed even as his hand frantically thrashed against her dress and legs. Her heart – she would swear later – had stopped at that moment, the force of the wave temporarily knocking her off her feet, shocking her into immobility. And as she got her bearings and flew into a frantic search for him, she suddenly remembered, released herself to resolve - _he will __**not **__die today! -_ to stagger through the water to the corridor.

The body had remained, bobbing as it was among the disturbed water, and rather than take the time to remove the oxygen tank, she somehow harnessed enough strength and grace to drag the entire body with her, sobbing violently as she went.

She remembered nothing of the shock as she dove down to reach through the grate only to discover he had sunk away; but her shoulder bore the marks of her frantic reach and pull against the hard metal (he had barely been within the reach of her fingertips) and she had cut a finger upon one of his teeth stuffing the mouthpiece between his lips.

Now, Machika halts before her, and she stops as well, trying again to squelch the rising need for release, trying to crush the desire to feel his skin for warmth. There are words but the voices mesh together, and she can barely hear anything save the rushing in her ears.

Distantly, she recognizes his siblings and wants more than anything to hug little Amy and whisper an apology; but her mouth is clamped into a tight grimace and her tongue feels thick and awkward. It is all she can do to keep her head up and her body standing.

He speaks to Methuseluh, and the sound of his voice is hoarse and raspy. He is still coughing intermittently though his stance is strong as he is set upon his own two feet. Her heart breaks a little to see him square his shoulders and paste a grin across his lips for his siblings' collective peace of mind; and she wonders why she couldn't see his loyalty before.

She had believed him a monster. She had trusted her values to guide her to a suitable judgment of his character and from the very beginning she had been wrong. So, utterly wrong.

Her lower lip trembles and her cheeks become heated; yet, the tears remain locked behind her eyes as he starts unsteadily down the stairs. She watches him for a moment, taking in the still-shaking shoulders, the vague pulsing of his fist around the rail, and without thinking, she follows to pull his arm about her shoulders and wrap her own behind his ribs.

His clothes are still cold and wet but she can feel heat rising through the fabric. He is warm now, and she can breathe again.

"I was wrong." She mumbles in tones that only he can hear.

"'s okay." He says in that knowing way that usually has her hackles rising, but she is simply relieved he is here to say it and look at her with that playful twinkle in his eye. A coughing fit takes him and she braces her free hand against his chest, taking comfort in the strong beat of his heart.

His hand on her shoulder squeezes a bit as he relaxes, breathing easier; and she feels like crying though she doesn't have the right, not until she tells him why she was wrong and that he was wrong too.


End file.
